


Tryouts

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 22:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21327484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis tries for private entertainment.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	Tryouts

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This isn’t how it works, folks; suspend all belief please.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

By the time they reach the VIP room in the back of the club, Noctis’ fingers are digging so hard into his palm that he might start bleeding at any second. He’s clenching his fists to keep the rest of his body from shaking, that whole body far too tense. He’s terrified but determined. He’s come too far to back down now. It was too hard to sneak off without Ignis knowing, without any paparazzi catching on, without his shield or any other back up. Theoretically, it’ll be easier next time, because then it’ll be someone else’s problem to figure out how to get to him, but first, he has to get through the application process. 

At least the club’s discreet, or so he’s heard, anyway—Ardyn Izunia doesn’t look like someone he’d trust without a long list of credentials. Ardyn ushers him onto a comfortable black sofa pushed up against the wall, facing the enormous stretch of glass on the other side of the room. The place is sleek and dark, the low-set table already laden with any kind of alcohol Noctis could ever ask for. He’s already resolved not to get sloppy, but he still wants to down several shots for his nerves. Grinning far too slickly, the owner gestures to the glass. 

“Well, Your Highness, it’s all here—just like we discussed on the phone.” Noctis can’t help a small wince at hearing his title purred out in a sex club. Ardyn pauses there at seeing it, stifling a quiet chuckle of his own. “This is a two-way mirror; you’ll be able to see our applicants’ auditions, but they won’t, of course, be able to see anything of you. They won’t know who you are until you’ve specifically chosen them. And I assure you, every single one has been carefully examined and legally contracted to the utmost secrecy. Your identity will never leave these walls.”

Noctis nods and says a silent prayer that that’s true—he’ll never hear the end of it otherwise. He’ll receive the wrath of his father, the papers, and Ignis. None of them truly understand how _hard_ it is for Noctis, being a young man with wants and needs that won’t ever be met inside the Citadel. He’s never going to find someone he can trust to properly date and sexually explore, so buying someone’s company is the next best option—at least then he’ll _know_ what their real price is. And Ardyn promised to find the perfect fit: the exact type of person that Noctis is looking for, someone who can fulfill all of his worst late-night fantasies.

“The remote before you has five buttons.” Ardyn’s eyes pointedly fall to a device poised between the liquor bottles—Noctis spots it and reaches out to take it. “The black one at the top is wired to my personal number; please feel free to press it if you have any further questions or wish for my opinion on your... options.” Noctis won’t be pressing that. When Ardyn first explained the process, he made it sound like he’d be in the room with Noctis, watching the auditions too, but Noctis hurriedly shot that idea down. If any of the applicants get to him, he doesn’t want any witnesses. And he certainly wouldn’t want _Ardyn_, of all people—the man certainly seems to know his field, but there’s something about his smile that makes Noctis’ skin crawl. Ardyn smoothly continues, “The buttons correspond to lights inside the other room. There are two negative, and two positive. If both negative lights come on, the applicant will know they haven’t been chosen and will leave. If both positive lights come on, well... I’m sure you can imagine what happens next.” Ardyn’s smile grows, and Noctis makes a physical effort not to squirm.

There’s a short pause, where Noctis feels like the walls are closing in on him—he could still bolt and never speak of this again. Maybe this is where Noctis is supposed to ask questions, but he doesn’t have any beyond _is this really his last option?_

Ardyn finally asks, “Are you ready, Your Highness?”

Noctis swallows and nods. Ardyn tips his hat—one more gesture that Noctis finds unnerving, because he shouldn’t even be wearing a hat indoors. Then Ardyn sweeps away, and no sooner has the door closed behind him, but a spotlight comes on behind the glass. Noctis’ attention snaps over to it. There’s a young man on the other side, because that’s what Noctis said he wanted, except he would’ve liked someone at least mildly approachable, and the stranger glares disdainfully at the glass like he belongs on a fancy stage and is much too good for these backend dealings. He turns towards the pole in the center of the room with an almost bored look on his attractive face, and he stomps towards it like a soldier.

He starts performing a number of complex moves that should probably be impressive and definitely sensual, but Noctis just feels numb. He watches the man’s sharp movements for a fair few minutes before working up the nerve to hit the negative buttons. He taps both in swift succession, because it feels so incredibly _awkward_, and he just wants the man to leave. The man scowls but does. The next one to stroll in is a thickset beefcake that’s definitely in the glaives. He wears a self-satisfied smirk that probably shouldn’t be a turn off but is, and Noctis gets antsy again and hits the buttons. 

A third comes in. There’s nothing wrong with him. And then he turns around to reveal a giant rotting skull tattoo that would turn Noctis right off in bed, even though he thought he was into tattoos. Maybe just less bloody ones. He sends that man away too. He feels guilty, too trigger happy, and hopes he’s not giving everyone a rejection complex, but the more he cycles through options, the more he feels like a total creeper that should just go home. 

Three more failed attempts, and a skinny blond shuffles clumsily into the room. Noctis blinks.

He breathes aloud, “Prompto?”

He knows his friend can’t hear him. Prompto keeps glancing nervously towards the glass, but never right where Noctis is sitting—he must be seeing his own reflection. He’s dressed more casually than the others, in skinny jeans and a red sleeveless shirt that Noctis has seen him wear a hundred times. He looks as cute as he always does, somehow both better in the sexual setting and worse in the seedy atmosphere. He scratches at his arm, then shuffles towards the pole, and Noctis’ pulse spikes. Shock numbs him. When it starts to dissipate, irritation sets in, because _is this a normal Saturday night for Prompto?_ Does he come here all the time and dance for strangers, offering himself for ‘private sessions’? Or worse—could he have figured Noctis out and come to make fun of him? That’s the only _real_ explanation, because Prompto doesn’t look at all like someone who’s done this before. He clutches the pole tightly and does a lame spin around it, worse than what Noctis himself could do.

Paranoid for a multitude of reasons, Noctis hits the first button. A light shines on the floor in the other room, and Prompto physically jumps. He looks at it with wide eyes, then bites his bottom and turns to the pole. He thrusts his whole body against it, grinding his hips back and forth, and then starts trying to pose on it like some cheesy supermodel in a low budget porno. He worms around to different angles, hips staying in motion, crotch sliding along the metal, cheeks fully flushed and lashes lowered. Noctis can finally feel a reaction stirring, which horrifies him, because it’s over his _best friend_, someone he never though he could ask this of. He’s spent the past several years trying _not_ to think of Prompto in compromising positions. He really has tried to be a good friend. He doesn’t even let himself masturbate to Prompto’s pictures more than once a week.

If he had a video of this, he’d probably masturbate to it every night if not several times a day, even though Prompto moves like the worst amateur Noctis has ever seen. There’s not even a beat to match, and it’s still somehow horribly off. But that just makes it all the more _Prompto_, and Noctis admires how hard he’s trying. He’s clearly doing his best. He’s adorable. He’s _pretty_. And he’s got a great ass that has Noctis, without thinking, tapping the first positive button. 

Prompto startles again but smiles in relief. Noctis tells himself there’s no way Prompto knows it’s him, and that makes this wrong, but he can’t bring himself to turn Prompto away and saddle him with that rejection. Prompto turns his back to the pole and tentatively grabs the hem of his shirt, then sucks in a breath, and strips it off. He flings it over his shoulder and spreads his hands across his pale chest, fingertips grazing his nipples. 

That shouldn’t be hot. But it is. Prompto pinches one nipple and rolls it around, the other hand snaking down his body. It stops just short of his crotch, hesitating around his belt, and Noctis realizes that he’s actually physically leaning forward. He’s waiting, willing Prompto to take the rest off. Prompto fumbles with his belt, pops it open, and Noctis has a sudden flicker of panic—_how many other people have sat on the same couch and seen Prompto’s cock?_

He hits the second positive button before Prompto can take any more off. He can’t let it go on any further. It wouldn’t be right. Besides, if he actually sees what Prompto’s dick looks like, he’ll never get the image out of his head. Prompto blinks dazedly at the signal, then fastens his belt again and walks over to collect his shirt. He disappears from the room, and Noctis stares at the door next to him, wondering if there’s any other way out.

A minute later, the door pushes open. Noctis _stares_ at his best friend, who sheepishly wanders over. He stops beside the couch, still holding his discarded shirt in his hands, not looking particularly surprised to see Noctis. He does look more embarrassed than he’s ever been. His freckles are entirely swallowed up under his blush. He fidgets on his feet for a moment, then sinks down into the couch. He mumbles, “Hi. ...Um... sorry.”

“_Sorry?_” Noctis blankly repeats. Then, “Did you know it was me?”

“Yeah. I... I sort of followed you...?” Prompto chews his bottom lip, an adorable habit that always makes Noctis’ knees week. He actually asks, voice trembling, “How’d I do?”

Noctis doesn’t even have words. He fumbles with air for a minute, then mutters, “I guess good; I picked you.”

Prompto laughs, but it’s hesitant. When Noctis doesn’t say anything else, Prompto checks, “So... do I have the job then?”

“_Job?_”

“You know. Of being... that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t we... couldn’t we just...” Then something finally snaps, and Noctis bursts, “What are you _doing_ here? Are you crazy, entering some gross club like this? Did you _see_ the owner? He looks like a vampire!”

Prompto splutters back, “Well, I don’t know! I was just following you! And then that creepy dude at the front said you were trying to find someone to ‘please you’ or whatever, and I figured, well, I can do that, and you can trust me not to tell the press or anything, and you wouldn’t have to waste money on me because I actually _like_ you, so—”

“You like me? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you’re the prince and you can have fancy things like paid professionals, and I’m just—c’mon, you saw me try to pole dance—!” 

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t need a professional if I had an awesome boyfriend like you!”

“Holy shit, can we be boyfriends?”

Noctis falls silent. Prompto looks dead serious. Noctis can’t believe it. 

He dares to dart across the small space between them since he just _has_ to make sure. 

He brushes his lips over Prompto’s, and Prompto presses back, twice as fierce, one hand even shooting up into Noctis’ hair. Noctis muffles a gasp against his mouth and pulls away. 

Prompto mumbles, “M’sorry...”

But Noctis is already collecting Prompto’s hand and tugging him off the couch. Noctis makes the executive decision, “Let’s get out of here. Come back to my place?” They desperately need to talk. And also do... stuff.

“What? Sure.”

“Awesome.”

Noctis still pays the bill to the smirking proprietor, because he’s definitely leaving satisfied, and he’s quite happy to head home with his new boyfriend in tow.


End file.
